View from the floor

Written last night:

Here I sit, close to the floor, on the king-size mattress, all sheeted up. Next to me is the wooden bed, like a hollow ship. Fore and aft are fine curved wood, but in the middle the springs are tilted and angled and flopping over each other. For the moment I’m completely comfortable leaning against the dresser, with a feather pillow at my back, Zing asleep at the foot of the bed, but today I bought a new bed and arranged for the old one to be hauled away. I’m in a hurry now to make this place comfortable. I started thinking about window coverings and also spent a mind-numbing hour this morning learning the TV, with Mark of the Geek Squad. He showed me how to turn it on, and I felt sure I got it, but tonight it didn’t work. I must be skipping a step. I’ll try again tomorrow.

Ten years ago, when we moved to Tallahassee, I ran on a new street each day — to get to learn the city. Today Zing and I started exploring the central Sacramento grid that same way, only walking. I drove a bit — Zing loves a short drive — and pulled over when we got to a block where you can park an hour without paying. Then Zing and I walked. We passed so many small, interesting houses and apartments. Some were kind of run-down, and others spiffy. I’m beginning to get the itch to draw. One building with four apartments had such a tidy entrance, with a small symmetrical front garden and a Buddha by the sidewalk. Another had three large, flat dishes filled with reddish wrinkled fruit laid out between sidewalk and street like an offering. Was I supposed to take one? I’m tempted to return tomorrow to see if they’re still there. 

Then, for a moment on the way back, I was unable to find Rosa — I knew she had to be hiding somewhere nearby. She did appear, one block farther away than I remembered. That will teach me to make a note of where we park when exploring this brand new city. 

I am hearing from friends hunkered down in Florida, waiting for Matthew to pass. May he do so lightly!

Love,
k

Relaxing together

Written last night:

Today began tense, after a night sleeping on the floor due to a broken bed, and ended, is ending, oh so relaxed. 

I have Zing to thank.

Really, don’t you think  that when I relax Zing will too? I do. Then he won’t bark when left alone. 

Cassi, our dog trainer, seemed to think — no promises! — that it might not take long. 

Here’s the trick, if you’re a dog. (People may adapt the plan):

1. Listen to lots of calming music. (Cassi says classical; I like piano solos on Pandora).
2. Put four drops of calming liquid in your water bowl. 
3. Plug a calming device into a wall socket. You get it at the pet store. It looks like an air freshener and releases something good in the air. Humans can’t smell it, but dogs find it relaxing.
4. Curl up on your human’s lap. Preferably, she is lounging in the green velvet chair. 
5. Listen to the music, get stroked a lot. 
6. When you get tired of that, slide onto the ottoman and snooze while the human writes. You could also let her read. She shouldn’t talk, unless it is to say soothing words to you. 
7. Dim the lights. Close the doors to the other rooms so they don’t distract you.
8. Do this often. Do it now. 
9. Occasionally your human may have to leave, but all the other calming things will remain. 
10. Your human should leave you a treat that keeps you busy. If you don’t like her choice (such as peanut butter frozen inside a rubber toy),  let her know by not touching it (Humans can be slow but if you keep working with them they eventually get the idea.) Pretty soon you will have just what you want, like one of those bones filled with cheese. You enjoy the appetizer, then gnaw on a flavorful bone for hours.
11. What? 
12. Your human is back home … Don’t let on, but you never missed her.

Problems eased by postcard and pecans

Written last night:

Even if the bed hadn’t collapsed again … even if I didn't find a third note on the door about Zing barking… even without these, today would have been busy.

At 9 this morning Cassie, the owner and dog trainer of Midtown Mutts dog-walking service, visited, and she is wonderful — tonight I am so tired — but tomorrow I’ll tell you everything she said. She studied human psychology in college, loves dogs, and — it seems — would rather work with animals than people.  Zing and I are the lucky beneficiaries. Cassie is generous with her knowledge, enthusiastic, and believes in positive, not negative, learning. Turns out there’s a whole cohort of such dog trainers. She thinks Zing will soon be fine — not a problem barker — if I apply a series of approaches (not just one), from soothing music to brain games to alterations in my going-away routine, and more. 

As soon as she left I also left (first turning on the radio for Zing) to have lunch with Faith at the Crocker Museum. She and I met while walking our dogs a few days ago. We laughed our way from cream of mushroom soup to coffee and cookies, and plan to meet again in a couple of weeks. 

When I got home there was a note on the door saying please do something about my dog’s barking. This time it had a name and phone number. Before responding I called Cassie. I told her I assumed the writer has good intent, not nasty.

Here’s what I sent Cassie after Mr. Clark (yes!) and I talked:

"The talk with neighbor was good. He said he likes dogs. Was glad I'm seeing you--trainer. He's most concerned that they're trying to sell their unit and that dog barking is not helpful. I asked him to let me know when he's showing their place, so I can try to be here or have Zing out at that time. 

Later, I was sitting on the couch opening mail in the lobby and chatted with a woman who was drawn to Zing. She lives above me and one unit over.  She said a friend who had been in her condo while she was at work told her she'd heard a new dog downstairs. She said it with a shrug, as if no big deal to either her or her friend." 

Then, trying to be “normal,” I made a quick pear cake. (Link says fig cake, but I used pears.) I’d started in the morning, hoping it would be out of the oven in time for Cassi’s visit, but no. Still, it’s delicious because the pears here are delicious.

And, to lift my spirits, in my mailbox I found gifts from two friends --  fresh pecans (which I miss so much!) from Beth in North Carolina, and a hand-stitched, hand-dyed postcard with a beautiful note from Jennifer. Thank you, Jennifer and Beth! Perfect timing!

I am tired. The blankets are spread on the living room floor. Zing is curled up there. I will join him now. 

Good night!

Looking back, looking forward

Written last night:

Really?? 100??

100 days. almost  a third of a year.

Clark is more real to me now than he ever was. 

I am grateful you, my family and friends,  are out there, accepting these emails and blog posts.  The blog feels real to me because it’s written to real people — my family — as an email every evening.

What Clark has taught me in these 100 emails is that he is still around. 

I am feeling kind of lonely, but that’s because my life is coming together, without being complete. I have to make a whole new life out here.  I like it. You are welcome to visit. No collapsing beds! I promise! 

Speaking of dependability and routine — I’ve decided to spend Monday mornings on financial review; I’ve been way too preoccupied with insurance and all that other stuff. It's  coming together and I have to keep an eye on it. So that’s how this morning went.

This afternoon I looked at bathroom sinks and faucets. And then got new distance-lens glasses from Wal-mart. And then got lost at Ikea. I don’t think that store is for me.  

When I got home, I sneaked up on Zing, taking the elevator to the eleventh floor instead of 12, in case he stops barking when he hears the elevator stop on our floor. So I stopped at 11, walked up to 12, and heard nothing. Maybe he’s not barking when I’m out any more. I sure hope not. It makes me nervous all the time I’m gone, wondering if we’ll be fined or kicked out for disturbing the peace.  Just another part of getting a routine. 

Then we went for a walk along the river, looking at the Crocker Museum, which had turned gray under the cloudy sky.

Love, 

k

Crocker Museum on a sunny afternoon last week, above,
the same view, approximately same time,  on cloudy Monday, below
The exterior walls, when you tap them, feel lie metallic tiles

I'm wearing magic glasses

Written last night:

I have retreated behind a pair of glasses. I put them on a few days ago instead of my faithful contact lenses; I have to wear glasses for the vision part of the driver’s license test, and I want to get used to them. Before, they were dormant in my purse. But to my surprise I haven’t taken the glasses off (except to sleep). They are like a shield. Along with my baggy jeans and uncombed hair (Messy becomes me!) I feel invisible, and that has been fine lately. 

I don’t yet belong. I’m testing, observing, retreating, and no one notices or cares. Who knows what will happen when I take my magic glasses off? 

Today Zing and I went to Sutter dog park. It was depressing — two barren fenced-in areas (for big and small dogs), with a few shabby plastic chairs and a table and an umbrella. some dog toys strewn on the dirt. The dogs were sweet, bouncing around with each other; their owners were friendly; and it was tolerable until the weather turned chilly and wet. You drive through streets of old and interesting houses to get there. But we won’t be back soon. 

I am getting a little more relaxed about Zing and his barking. I intended to leave him alone an hour or so today, but ended up spending the whole day at home, and enjoying it. Mostly I “organized” my studio, researched daybeds vs. futon sofas. (After my own bed collapsed, I’m getting persnickety.), and made a dinner of roasted vegetables and steelhead trout. And ice cream. And wine.  Just the way Sunday should be.

Love,
k

Not that I love routine ...

Written last night:

You can’t hurry routines, especially when you are as free to shape your days as I am. But at last my new days are beginning to take on a reassuring shape.

Even Zing is getting the idea; for the past few mornings he’s initiated a game of catch,  plopping his small stuffed toy (is it a chicken?)  at my feet. He wisely waits until after I’ve had my coffee.  And, of course, we go for our morning walk — somewhere between 6:30 and 7 a.m. finds us prowling quiet streets that will soon be busy. We are becoming familiar with the Kings stadium, which was bustling at 7:15 today, preparing for an open house for ticket holders, I think. Finally, we were able to walk the sidewalks on the stadium side of L street. (Zing paused for a pee at the VIP entrance, just to claim the place.) Then we wandered to the main entrance to see the controversial Jeff Koons sculpture — of a pig, I think — but that area was closed off. (It was open on Sunday. Pix below.) The whole block buzzed with excitement, and it wasn’t 8 a.m. yet.

By 8 p.m. Capitol Mall area  a block away had hosted three festivals — a bike ride for Alzheimer’s, a Suicide Prevention event, and Octoberfest — and at dark the Golden 1 crowd was straggling to an end -- lots of families with young kids jumping on the buses and trains to go to parking areas afield, I guess. 

I can’t believe my proprietary interest in this arena; I love energy it projects. I may be romanticizing, but I love the hammering in the morning, the feeling of urgency when you pass a plot not yet planted with purple flowers, the way the kids who work there seem electrified because they’re part of a big community project. (I know, I know — there have been plenty of people who don’t think it’s such a great thing.)  But it sure does jolt the city streets.

The rest of today was routine: laundry, scrubbing the entrance (finally!) where Zing had a tantrum at the doorway when I left him behind soon after moving in. I’m not certain how he did it, but the floor was filthy there. Now — after I got down on my knees with soap and water — it shines. Don’t do that again, Zing! There was a great, creative interlude talking to Janis in Tallahassee about her latest project, a memory quilt made of her brother's t-shirts.

And the Saturday farmer’s market is surely routine by now— today I took Zing along, praying he would not pee at the corner of each stall. (He did this the one time I took him to the Tallahassee farmer’s market.) He was continent! I bought flowers, fish, the best tiny green and red tomatoes you’ve ever tasted, and pears.  Kids wanted to pet Zing. Parents hustled them along, knowing it was the start of a busy, cool weekend with lots more to do.

Zing with farmer's market flowers

Suicide prevention rally at Capitol

Sunday morning photo of Jeff Koons' piggy sculpture
Its shiny surface reflects a Paul McCartney ad (in reverse) that's on a wall across the street.

Shadow shows piggy outline

Separation Anxiety: dog and human

Written last night: 

I feel blindingly alive now, coming out of the fog, knowing how brief and even abrupt life is. Clark said I would live well, should he die first, (All theory — I was convinced that would not happen), and I want to live up to his trust in me. Living well is not the point. I long for him, and how I survive has nothing to do with that. Or maybe everything. 

I am becoming able to not cry when I say his name. I’ve learned to get around it. When I have to explain why I’m confused about something (for instance, to the Geek Squad), I say there have been a lot of changes in my life lately; I don’t say my husband used to take care of this stuff.  And when I was talking to the vet this morning I practiced ahead of time: I need a refresher on caring for Zing because my husband had died, and he was the one who’d kept track of Zing things. I said these words several times to myself as I walked with Zing up the street to Dr. Dinger's office. Relaxing my face and speaking without cadence, I got through without tears. Not that I mind tears, but they shock people. 

The vet, and Eric, the great PetSmart salesman I saw soon after, agreed that Zing’s barking shows he has a not-too-terrible case of separation anxiety. At this point he doesn’t need a crate or a necklace that shocks him or even a collar that emits a bad smell when he barks. I left them thinking I have lots to learn about my little dog; he and I can take a training class, explore dog parks, work toward a regular routine. These things might help me as well as Zing. I should brush him (Clark did that), brush his teeth (Clark thought that was ridiculous), turn on music and talk shows to keep him company when I’m gone, leave him with frozen treats to keep him occupied, try calming herbs in his water or sprayed in the air or emitted from a plugged-in device (Thanks, Susan! I'd ordered some Pet Rescue Remedy already.)

When Zing and I walked along the river early this evening we discussed this. We think we are both coming along nicely.

Love,

k

Crocker Art Museum from the River Walk.
Sacramento River is behind me
The Crocker also has a Victorian mansion, on the far side of
 the new building